


I am a forest, and a night of dark trees

by TheBrideOfTheWind



Series: A house of broken bones [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8255288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrideOfTheWind/pseuds/TheBrideOfTheWind
Summary: Since he was born, loss has been a continuous thread in Murphy's life.He thinks he's alone again. Until he isn't.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote from Friedrich Nietzsche's novel “Thus Spoke Zarathustra” which reminded me of Murphy and Murphamy. 
> 
> Here is the whole quote:  
> “I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.”

John Murphy knows what loss means. He knows how it feels to lose someone you love. When a sudden darkness clutches your heart, holds it for a moment and then crushes it, slowly and painfully. 

He lost his father when he was a young boy. His mother followed soon, still blaming him for his death, as a nice addition. 

Down on the ground he lost Mbege, who had been like a brother for him. And later Finn. Finn, who had become a friend to him, because he was another outcast, someone that didn't belong with the others like him. Another one he couldn't save.

He loses Bellamy, too. One time at a cliff in a rainswept, tempestuous night. The second time at the dropship in bright daylight, with triumph in his smile and anger in his feet. The last time he's sure, he will never see him again. So he follows Jaha on his inauspicious mission, just to be left behind on the beach and kept locked inside a bunker for three months till he nearly loses himself, too.

By that time he has grown so accustomed to losing and being abandoned, that he would be more surprised if someone stays. Loss has become his truest companion, has metamorphosed into a part of him, been carved into his skin for eternity. A constant reminder, that he's far better off on his own.

Nevertheless, there he is. Making the same mistake again. Breaking his own rule. He wanted to leave Polis and all the memories attached behind, when he heard a voice he would still recognize amid a thousand others. Pike and Indra were hesitant at first, but he can be quite persuasive if he wants to. And in his opinion, some rules are meant to be broken if necessary.

So he steps out of the light and Bellamy drinks him in, looks up from below as if he's his saving grace. It's beguiling and tantalizing at the same time, to see him again. He wants to savour this moment, bath in it. And the power he has in this situation tempts him, befuddles his mind. There's a sting when he mentions Clarke, but he was never capable of saying no to him.

Up goes the elevator and Murphy doesn't dare to move, doesn't know what to say, until the silence lies too heavy on his shoulders, threatens to smother him. “Didn't think I would see you again,” he finally mutters, sounding faint and unsteady. He hates how he makes him feel. After all this time. 

“I thought you were dead,” Bellamy says and his mouth twitches, and Murphy tries his best to keep his eyes focused on the elevator wall in front of him. 

“Why are you here?” Bellamy asks, after a short pause. “Just trying to survive,” he answers, without being able to look him in the eye. It's only a half-lie though, because he's always trying to survive. But he can tell that he doesn't believe him anyway.

“You're not the only one trying to save someone you care about,” Murphy says then, just a hint of bitterness in his voice. 

There's a tiny little sane part of his brain telling him that he's talking about Emori. The other part wants to scream something different: “It's you, it's always been you.” And somehow he even gets the feeling that Bellamy sees right through his feeble act, dark eyes fixed on him with fierce intensity.

It's not that he doesn't love Emori. But he thinks you can love two people at the same time, differently. He's sure she would understand. He has talked to her about him, about their first days on the ground. How he put his trust in him instantly, would have followed Bellamy to the end of the world if he had asked him to. Whereas he was willing to throw him to the wolves without hesitation. How the worst part wasn't the hanging, but that he didn't believe him.

“You love him,” she said, more a statement than a question. And Murphy didn't know what to say, because how explain their bond when he doesn't even understand it himself. Two magnets that sometimes attract, and sometimes repel, he would say now, after careful consideration. A force of nature. Physics.

It took him some time to realize it wasn't just admiration that drew him to Bellamy in the first place. That their aggressiveness was just a cover, just a disguise for other, more dangerous feelings and desires. That the sizzling tension, whenever they were together, wasn't caused solely by repulsion. 

He figured it out eventually, because he has always been perceptive and in tune with himself, a necessity that came with having to survive on his own for a long time. He wasn't sure if Bellamy noticed it too, though.

It's different with him than with Emori. Not only, that he sees a part of his own darkness reflected in Bellamy. But the way one gaze makes his blood boil and one touch sets his skin aflame. It's intense and it's agonizing even, what he does to him, what he can do to him. The kind of thing that wounds and hurts, leaves you scarred. 

And yet this pain, even the tiniest part of it, tells him that he's alive.

 

His gaze drops to Bellamy's lips and he considers kissing him, right then and there, cause nothing matters and he's still not sure if they will survive. Meanwhile, the elevator comes to a sudden halt and the moment is gone.

“We don't kill anyone” was Bellamy's order, and yet he doesn't hesitate long to shoot the man, when he begs him to. It feels wrong and he is appalled by himself, but he can't help how it makes his heart do a somersault in his chest. The grip of Bellamy's hand on his shoulder is steady and sincere, leaves him dazed and confused for a second.

In such moments he wishes Bellamy would say something offensive or yell at him like he used to, always on the edge of violence. He wishes he would punch him in the face, without restraint. It would be easier like this. 

Force is something he can handle, something he can endure. Kindness, on the other hand, is still new, especially from Bellamy. With no way to conceal or to obscure he feels vulnerable, bare and exposed, as if someone ripped him open and tore his innermost secrets out, for everyone to see.

 

Everything else is a blur. They enter the room to find and rescue Abby and Clarke, Bellamy takes care of Jaha which gives him little satisfaction. He sends Clarke into the city of light with trembling fingers. While everyone else is trying to fight the incessant stream of grounders, he pumps Ontari's heart and dissociates himself from his body till he's not sure anymore, whether it are his hands and arms halfway in her dead body.

When Clarke wakes up and he can stop finally, in this moment of overall realization and reconciliation, he looks at his bloody hands and then at Bellamy standing next to Clarke. King and Princess, side by side, like it should be. There's a sting again, accompanied by an unpleasant twist in his stomach. 

He lets his eyes wander over the room, over the people lying in each other's arms or those who are too weak to do anything, when his eyes discover a motionless body on the stairs. The cloth on her head is still the same, the black tattoo standing out to her unusual pale skin. But her hands are cold and the light in her eyes has vanished.

The wide room is too small suddenly, with too many people. So many voices, but not hers. Not hers. 

He wants to scream in despair, but no noise is leaving his mouth. He wants to cry, but no tears are left, haven't been for a long time. Instead, he falls on his knees on the hard stone and buries his face in his stained hands, sobbing dryly. 

The floor is cool under his legs and an icy wind is howling through the tower. And he feels cold, so cold. There's sweat on his forehead and Ontari's blood smeared all over him, but he couldn't care less. And all at once a wave of nausea hits him, because she's gone, he's lost her, he's lost her, too. He's alone again.

Murphy doesn't believe in god or some higher power, he has never been spiritual. Destiny or fate may be words used by those who are too afraid to take matters into their own hands or choose to hide behind some false idol. Yet, looking back at his life, he isn't sure if all this pain and suffering isn't some universal plan to punish him. 

And he's fine with it, because in his view he deserves it. Not because he sees the need to redeem himself, but because he believes in causality. Cause and effect. Action and reaction. Crime and punishment. He almost laughs at the absurdity of him kneeling on the floor like he's begging for salvation. 

It's still freezing and he shivers, his whole body shaking violently. He struggles for breath and he's positive he's going to die, since his throat is too tight and he is about to choke, an experience he knows all too well. He can already feel the familiar dizziness, and he is so weak that he loses his balance and falls over, without being able to move.

Then there's something else. Warm hands touching his shoulders, brushing the damp hair from his face. Strong arms helping him up, stroking his back to calm him down. Murphy doesn't need to look who it is, the way his stomach flutters all of a sudden tells him enough. 

“It's OK, it's OK,” Bellamy whispers and just holds him. His ragged breathing settles and he can finally feel the cool air filling his lungs again, inhales it greedily.

 

It's nightfall outside, the sun's last gleam illumining the room softly. Bellamy and Clarke have helped him to clean the blood from his face and body and found an empty bedroom for him. She is gone, but he is still with him, and there is no sting anymore.

Bellamy sits at his bedside and watches over him with tired eyes, while he sinks into a deep and dreamless slumber. And when he finally decides to go, Murphy isn't scared any longer. 

“Stay, please;” he says, voice rustling like a leaf in the wind. “Don't leave me.”

And Bellamy stays. “I'm here,” he murmurs, grabbing his pale hand tightly. And he doesn't need to tell him that he will never leave him, because in this world those words have no weight. They only count for the moment. But it's enough for now. Enough for him. 

Murphy sighs and his eyelids flutter, trying to blink back tears.

Maybe he isn't alone. Not anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you like it :-)


End file.
